I thought, "Wouldn't River and Snape make the most awesome pairing!" And this was the result ...

Title: I shall come back to you on that one Fandom: Doctor Who/Harry Potter crossover love! Characters: Snape, River, Eleven at the end Word Count: 736 Warning: This is by no means, shape or form, anything other than unintelligent self-pleasing ramblingRating: PG-ish Disclaimer: This is too awesome for the Moff and JKR's minds to comprehend. Summary: River meets Snape. Simple.

River stood on a mountainside in the highlands of Scotland. The Doctor was late, as always. She folded her arms and tapped her fingers –nd accidentally activated the Vortex Manipulator.

Now she stood in an underground dungeon. At least, that’s what the iron-wrought doors and windowless stone walls would suggest. But there was an assortment of cauldrons, potion vials and dried plants on desks facing a blackboard, like one would find in a science classroom. River shook her head. So much for a romantic retreat.

She searched for the chalk, to write ‘Hello Sweetie’ on the board, but there was none. Instead, she found a quill and ink-pot and wrote it on a scrap of parchment, then stuffed it in an empty vial. She lit a cauldron, then collected some mandrake root, magnesium powder, doxy eggs and toad inners; with the right temperature and substance, she could use the potion as a conductor for the TARDIS to sense and follow.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing, Miss Granger?” spoke a venomous voice behind her.

River spun on her heel. “Sweetie?” Either his latest regeneration had gone drastically wrong, or this greasy-haired, hook-nosed man wasn’t her Doctor.

“You’re not Hermione Granger.”

“And you’re not Sweetie.” River offered him her hand. “Doctor River Song, pleased to meet you; hope you don’t mind, need to send a message to a friend.”

“Professor Snape and I do mind.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Might I suggest you use an owl?”

“I used a carrier pigeon once but it was shot,” River mused. “Clever idea, though.”

“I’m not a bloody Muggle,” River parroted. She’d never heard of ‘Muggles’ – which galaxy was she in this time?

“How did you get here?””

River cocked her head to the side. “I time-travelled, but sometimes I get the co-ordinates wrong,” she replied, and braced herself for another disdainful remark. For a man with a voice as smooth as velvet, he didn’t have much positive to say.

He looked relieved. “Good, certainly not a Muggle. Now leave my classroom. Ask a student if you’ve forgotten how to reach Dumbledore’s office.”

It was time to wipe that contemptuous but smug look from his face. “I wasn’t a student here. I wasn’t a student anywhere in this century or on this planet. Dumbledore – whoever he may be - is not expecting me. And I’ve just begun conducting a signal so that my boyfriend can rescue me from this dismal place you call a classroom. So, unless you have the power to stop me—”

With a flick of his wand, Snape summoned the potion vial to his open left hand. “What is it with bushy-haired insufferable women?” he muttered.

River placed her hand on her gun, then met his scrupulous gaze and winked. “We make the best lovers.”

Snape didn’t flinch. “I beg to differ.”

They continued to stare each other out. Neither dared to blink. River drew her gun. Snape threw her across the room. Before she could recover, he pinned her against the wall.

“Who are you working for?” He drew up her left sleeve and looked surprised to see her bare arm.

“I told you, I’m not of this time.” She pulled her arm away.

He leant closer. “I don’t believe you.”

River’s heart rate increased. This man used weaponry more advanced than anything found in the fifty-first century. She wondered if there were still remnants of her hallucinogenic lipstick on her lips, from when she’d kissed the Queen’s Guard two days ago outside Buckingham Palace.

She pressed her lips against his; at first they were hard and unyielding, until she slid her tongue against his and he leant toward her ever so slowly. There was true mastery in the way he worked his tongue against hers, and though her lips did not tingle from the effects of the lipstick, her whole body buzzed with the sensation he brought. He buried his long fingers in her brazen curls then ran his deft hands down her back, until they rested on her hips.

Vworp. Vworp. Vworp.

Though River knew that noise well, she didn’t pull back.

The door creaked open, and the Doctor emerged rambling, “Sorry I’m late, honey, got into a debate with Oscar Wilde. God, that man could beat you for wit.” His face dropped. “Oh, I see you’ve found sufficient distraction.”

This is too amazing for words! Both River and Snape are amazingly in character, and having him mistake her for Hermione is brilliant! (As is Eleven + Oscar Wilde.) And I really want to know what she did at Buckingham Palace...